


Beautiful |Jean x Reader|

by McHeichou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Shingeki no Kyojin Fusion, F/M, Fluff, Jean - Freeform, JeanxReader, Yea Baby, aot - Freeform, attackontitan, comment, first jean x reader, florist, flowes, jean kirstein - Freeform, please, reader - Freeform, shingekinokyojin, snk, yay, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:30:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4242636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McHeichou/pseuds/McHeichou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Florist!Jean X Reader.<br/>Reader is depressed and goes to Jean for comfort</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful |Jean x Reader|

You couldn't recall the exact moment when you stepped inside Jean's shop. Mind occupied somewhere else, you patted your leather jacket to get rid of the raindrops that went slithering down, succumbing to gravity. You still couldn't believe that on Valentine's Day, your boyfriend, Jim, dumped you. 

You could barely remember a single moment of happiness. All you could remember were the incessant murmurs filling your ears day after day forcing you into a place of giving in to his every wish. Your hands trembled, eyes damp with abhorrence, you swiped them away in aggression. 

Your memories were on a determined loop, replaying the pain, humiliation and nausea of the night at the his place over and over.

When the transient pause of your despondent state came around, you took in the appearance of where you stood. 

A flower shop. Different chromes of flowers stood with green straightened spines, vanity showing off in their clustered petals. The roses surfaced their narcissism with thorny extensions while the blue bells had dropped down faces as if they were sickened with boredom.

Ghost trails of past tears etched on your face as time ticked when you kept on admiring the shop. It was a usual beige walled flower shop with bouquets displayed on a table like pieces of jewellery.

"Don't keep standing there, beautiful. Buy some flowers," a confident voice of your friend reached your numb ears, clearly matching with the vibrancy of this place.

You looked away from the bouquets to focus on the daring shopkeeper who made an attempt to hit on you. His voice had a playful timbre, as if everything was a game, and he was winning. Lazily valiant. Like didn't care at all about his business at all. Eyes burning red, you blinked several times to get rid of the torridness. 

Light brown tresses fell on his temples, just above honey irises which held nothing but curiosity. His smile was brilliant, features backlit by the faint rainbow glow behind him which came from the flowers. His face was sharp. A contrast to this lazy smile which danced on his lips beautifully. A breeze seeping in your barriers. It felt so foreign; so fresh. But you were scared of the consequence if the breeze brought dirt with it, fed you lies. 

You forced out a breath through slightly parted lips, wanting to share your pain. The thought was exhilarating and also disheartening – what if you had walked all this way, only to be humiliated? What if he made fun of your condition?

You didn’t want to flaunt your vulnerable condition – hidden within the confines of your clothing – or the rings that surrounded your eyes like insomnia itself. And right now, it felt as if you were walking into a situation that could only end in pointed fingers. Regret.

This is what happens to a girl who has been abandoned in such an auspicious day.

"I," you gulped, questioning your ability to speak properly, "I don't want anything. It was raining so..." 

You didn't need to explain further. The extended pause afterwards was self-explanatory, verified by a slight nod from the man. He understood your situation. 

But not completely.

You felt crumpled, like a tissue, used and then discarded. Useless. Objectified.

"I see," a frown blemishing his lips, "no flowers then." 

You nodded, a sigh of content escaping your dry lips. The shop fell silent. Outside the window, rain was drizzling down onto the frozen ground. Footsteps creaked across the floor. You were breathing heavily, a background soundtrack of worry to your scattered thoughts.

He pursed his lips. No topic to talk about. The disappointment in his features overruled your conflicted thoughts. Eyes roamed up and down your wet figure, taking all of you in one painstaking glance.

"Hey, why don't you sit down and remove that sunken face. It's Valentine's day!" 

Your teeth gritted behind sealed lips. Sealed thoughts. Sealed pain. But your pain had managed to surface up through your eyes.  
Life could break anybody. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for quarantine would also break you with its yearning. You would be left broken and betrayed, counting the sweet moments of your life. 

"So.....," he tried to start the conversation, "Who's your valentine today?"

You felt a lump forming in your throat. "No one." 

He did not reply. Maybe it was because of surprise. Maybe because of sympathy. You regretted saying anything and fiddled with your fingers. 

You clenched your fists one last time with all your strength before you relaxed them, nail impressions in your skin, surrendering to his charm. Your feet dragged as you slumped back to the couch, allowing yourself to fall into the cushions, your energy dropping simultaneously. Melancholy was exhausting. 

"That shit dumped me. Idiot." 

Jean's heart felt relieved, a burden dissolving into thin air. He knew you were the most stupidest being when it came to judging people. Your ex-boyfriend might be one of the most ridiculous mistakes of your life. Jean had met him, twice. He only showed up in front of you when he needed help or comfort. You couldn't refuse because giving comfort meant receiving it in the future. But the desired future never came.

Jean had been waiting – dreading – the moment when you and him made eye contact again.

The hatred that would lurk behind his paper smile. How could you not despise that shit of a boyfriend?

"He was a total jerk, (Name), much more of it than me." He laughed, but it came out stilted, as if he realized at the last moment that you weren't laughing as well. And, for some reason, it seemed unfathomable to him that you didn't find him funny. "Oh come on, he was!" Jean had to stop himself from leaning forward, plowing through your bubblegum-bright perimeter of personal space. 

It was strangely comforting, you discovered, sharing something with Jean. It was the tiniest reminder, fleeting as one of the starry snowflakes, that there was a boy in a flower shop, a mile away, and if you weren't thinking of killing your ex-boyfriend, then you were probably thinking of him.

He sighed, letting your silence slice through his reasons. "Was it hard?" he asked.

"Letting go?" you finally spoke.

"Yeah."

Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn't real.

"I don't know." You stood up, walking past him, pushing the poor man in the process. It was so uncharacteristic of you to push past him, and walk away from his warmth. Even an angry (Name) had never been this cold. Guilt needled his insides. He wondered if he had helped desensitize you to the world. Had making fun of your choices been the first step? 

Standing near a bunch of roses, you pulled out one. The petals were wet. Jean had sprayed them, perhaps. Looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and green, you frowned. You had never shown keen interest in natural objects, but today you learned much to obtain hope from flowers.

You turned to face Jean, "Sorry." 

"For what?" He cocked up an eyebrow. 

"For not acknowledging your company. I had been so stupid. So much stupid." You said as you coughed awkwardly, "Here." You handed him the same rose, color matching with your cheeks. You weren't sure if it was because of the cold or because of giving Jean a flower which he owned.

"Err, thanks?" He smiled, crunching your  
insecurities. "Beautiful." He flicked your reddened cheek.

"Jesus, Jean. Cocky again?" you laughed.

"Only for you."

You blushed harder, the red colour covering any marks of tears. You realised you could tell him things that you’ve never shared with another soul and he absorbed everything you said and actually wanted to hear more. He would not be abashed to cry with you when you were hurting or laugh with you when you made a fool of yourself, which was very often. You could share hopes and aspirations for the future, dreams that might never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life had thrown at you.

When something astounding would happen, you wouldn't wait a second to tell him about it, knowing he would share in your exhilaration. 

Hopes are such lovely things.

"Love is shit, isn't it?" you changed the topic. "It makes you vulnerable and open to people. It makes your wounds bare to reality which is eager to sprinkle salt on them." 

He laughed, "(Name), you can't live without love, can you? Won't you crave it? Even for a second?" Colours seemed brighter and more brilliant with him around. 

You could feel strength in knowing he might be a loyal friend to you. It was ridiculous, unfathomable, and so incredibly stupid to think of such things again.

"I guess," you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck. Jean set his honey eyes on you, his sweet glare mending your heart. "Not," you finished your sentence. 

"Good, now let me make a special bouquet for you."

There was never a time or place of your love for him to blossom. It happened unintentionally, in a heartbeat, a single flickering, trembling moment.

And you were grateful for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please inform me of any typos or mis-spells if any! It would mean a lot to me. Also, give your thoughts about it!


End file.
